Oriental Hotel (55 page)

‘But Brit – at least in a prison camp we would be alive.'

He grimaced. ‘I'm not getting through to you, am I? The chances are that in a Jap prison camp you would die slowly and miserably. There will be no proper food, maybe only contaminated water to drink. When you go down with disease, as you surely will, there will be no medication available. It is just possible that you might survive, yes. But I doubt whether Alex would. And a new-born baby would have no chance at all.'

She had blanched as he spoke, now she stood shocked into silence.

Never, throughout any of the situations they had encountered together, had he tried to minimise the seriousness of the dangers they faced. He had always told her exactly what he thought.

It was because he was totally without deception, she thought. He deceived neither himself nor other people. Instead he saw things clearly, as they were, and if they made unpleasant viewing he did not turn away from the sight.

Always he had maintained Hong Kong would fall. Now it looked as if he was about to be proved right, as had happened so often before. And his description of the prison camp; sounded suddenly only too feasible.

Sickness, hardship, cruelty – for herself, she might have taken a chance on her own ability to survive. But her children …

A voyage to the Philippines might be a voyage into danger. But it might also be a move to freedom. If Brit thought it a gamble worth taking, then she must trust his judgement.

As for Gordon … She did not know where he was, even whether he was alive or dead. He would want her to do her best for Alex and the baby now that the end had come, she was sure. The responsibility was all hers.

She took a deep, steadying breath and raised her eyes to meet Brit's.

‘When would we leave?'

‘As soon as I can get the yacht here.'

‘How long would that take?'

‘Tonight. You could sail under cover of darkness.'

‘What about you?'

‘I can't come with you, Elise.'

‘But why? Why not?' she cried.

‘I am still technically a serving officer in the Royal Air Force. To come with you would be construed as desertion.'

‘But …'

‘You will have a competent crew on the yacht, I'll see to that.'

Terror seized her. She could face anything if only he was there. Alone, with Su Ming and Alex to take care of, and a baby who could choose any timenow to put in an appearance, she couldn't do it!

‘Brit, you must come with us!' she cried. ‘Please – you must!'

A muscle moved in his cheek, ‘ You can do it, Elise,' he said quietly.

‘I can't, Brit. I simply can't!'

‘You
can
.' He touched her chin, lifting it with one finger. ‘A woman who can fight all the officials in Cairo and travel half-way round the world alone can do anything.'

Her lips were trembling. ‘I wasn't alone.'

‘In the beginning you were. Do you remember the first time I saw you? In the restaurant at Shepheard's? Do you know the first thing that struck me about you? Not your looks; not your classy expensive clothes, or the way you can bring a room alive when you smile. No, the first thing I noticed about you was your courage. You were so alone and so damned determined. How those stuffed shirts at the consulate held out against you for so long, I shall never know. You had guts then, Elise, and you have guts now. You may not think so – while I am here, you are still relying on me. But when you are alone you will find that courage again. It's there, my love, and you will draw on it because you must. And Su Ming and Alex and the baby will all draw on your strength too and you will be equal to it.'

‘Oh Brit, I don't know …' Her cheeks were wet with tears.

‘Go to the Philippines, Elise, and put yourself in the hands of the Americans. And after the war I will find you and we will be together: you, me, Alex and the baby.'

‘Oh, Brit …'

His mouth quirked suddenly, an expression of something like wonder crossing his face.

‘It's really funny – I never expected to be a father.'

Impulsively she caught at his hands, spreading them out across her stomach.

‘Feel it, Brit! Your son is going to be a boxer, judging by the way he punches me. Or maybe a footballer. His feet are pretty big, too.'

‘What if it's a girl? Does it mean she'll be a footballer, too?'

And she was laughing in the midst of her rears.

‘I hope not! I'd like it to be a boy, anyway. And I think he should be called after you. Gerald, I mean – not Brit.'

For a moment they stood there, close together, just two people in love who would soon be parents. Then all too quickly the cold wind of reality shivered over them.

‘I shall have to go if I'm to arrange for the yacht.' Brit moved away, looking out of the window.

This side of the island was still untouched by the fighting; looking out at the blue-green sea surrounded by the encompassing coastline, it was impossible to believe in the horror and destruction so close by. ‘Stay here until I get back.'

She shivered. Gordon had said much the same when he had left her at the Peninsula and he had not come back. As if reading her thoughts Brit turned back, holding and kissing her.

‘Don't worry, my love. This is the easy part.'

She nodded. Already she was aching with the effort of remaining calm.

‘We shall be here. We're not going anywhere! Except, I suppose, to the Philippines!'

His lips touched hers again; his hands squeezed her shoulders.

But already she sensed he had gone from her mentally, planning

ahead to what had to be done.
I must leave something with him
, she thought.
Something precious

to me which he can keep until we're together again
.
Her fingers found the catch of her mother's locket and unfastened

it from her neck. She had not taken it off since her mother died;

now she pressed it into his hand.
‘Wear this for me.'
He nodded, closing his fingers around it.
‘Bye, sweet.' He slid his hand down to her stomach. ‘Bye, baby.

See you soon.'
‘Not
too
soon, I hope!'
Their eyes smiled at one another and then he was gone.
With his going, confidence suddenly left her and it took a colossal

effort to pull herself together once more.
He says you can do it and so you can. For Alex's sake. For the

baby's. And for Brit's
– most of all, for Brit's …

It was dark when he returned and they were all ready and waiting: Alex clean and fed, grizzling sometimes, silly-excited sometimes as are all overtired children; Su Ming pale but calm, more afraid of being taken prisoner by the Japs than she was of the unknown perils of the sea; and Elise, feeling as if she was living a nightmare, yet somehow behaving and speaking quite normally.

The yacht was anchored in the bay, a light shape against the dark, and the small boat Brit had used to come ashore was pulled up on the narrow strip of beach. Carrying Alex on his shoulders, he led the way through the bushes.

There was a Chinese in the boat. As he saw them approaching he jumped out and began to pull the little craft into the water again. Brit put Alex on to one of the seats and Su Ming, who had taken off her shoes and waded after them, also climbed into the boat.

Elise, however, hung back. Her feet had dragged, and it was not only the weight of the baby that seemed to pull her down. The whole of her body felt heavy now, leaden and numb, and she felt sick.

This was the moment of parting and the pain of it was sharp agony at the core of the desolation. She tried to speak, to form thoughts with words, but nothing would come. The agony was mute as well as blind, so all-consuming that it seemed to possess her utterly.

As she stood with feet anchored in the shingle, she saw Brit's shadow turn from the boat and wade back towards her.

‘Come on, my love. You have to go now.'

Still she could not move, and when he reached her he swung her up into his arms as easily as if she had weighed no more than Alex.

‘Oh, Brit …' Her arms were around his neck and for a moment they remained motionless. Then his lips bent to touch hers for the last timeand the sharp edge of pain within her was tinged with unbearable sweetness.

In love and despair she clung to him, but he was too strong for her. The kiss he ended, touching her lips gently once more – then he was moving, walking through the small breakers to the boat and setting her down as he had set down Alex.

The outboard motor was running. He said to the Chinese, ‘ Take care of them,' and his voice was rough.

Then to Elise, ‘I will come for you after the war. And I won't let you go again.'

She only nodded, pressing his hand. Then the boat was moving and she could no longer touch him. There was a foot of water between them … two feet. She leaned out over the bows as if drawn by invisible strings and the knife-edge of pain was raised to a silent scream:

Brit … Brit … my love … my life
…

He had not moved away. He still stood, knee-deep in the water, watching them. But he was only a shadow now, a dark, indistinct blur against the backdrop of beach and cliffs and trees. Further out and further they went, until they reached the yacht, and still he stood there. Eager hands helped them aboard, but her eyes were

riveted on the shore, looking for the very last sight of him.
She was unaware of the drone of the bomber until it was very

close. Her whole being was concentrated on the parting from Brit.

But suddenly it seemed that the air was shaking and she looked

up to see the aircraft just above the cliff line.
Apathy died, tingling terror rushed in to fill the vacuum.
‘Oh, my God!'
Frozen, she watched. The bomber seemed to hang there like an

obscene vulture for timeless seconds, then there was a sharp,

sickening whine and she saw several objects falling through the

air.
And then, before her eyes, the beach erupted.
Smoke, flame, debris, flying sand, cascading water.
And as it settled, the eerie calm was broken only by the now

distant drone as the enemy plane pulled back for home base.
For endless moments shock kept her rigid, then she screamed.
‘Oh my God – Brit!'
One of the crew was alongside her and she turned in panic,

grabbing his sleeve.
‘Go back! We must go back!'
‘We can't go back.'
‘We
must
! Don't you understand? Brit's there …'
Firm hands were holding her, voices shaken but soothing.
‘We can't go back. It wouldn't do any good.'
‘What do you mean, it wouldn't do any good?'
But even as she asked, she knew. Deep down, beneath that part

of her conscious mind which refused to accept, she knew that no

one on the beach could have escaped the bomb. No one could

have been there and lived.
Her hands gripped the rail, her body shaken with soundless sobs.

The grief was too enormous to contemplate; even the first long

shadow it cast was too much to bear.
Brit must be dead – that was what they were telling her.
‘No!' she sobbed, fighting against the inescapable reality. ‘It's not

true! He's not dead! I won't believe it!'

But from those around her there was no reply, no words of false hope.

She buried her face in her hands, rocking, sobbing only ‘No – no!' until the word seemed a part of her, something that would go on forever in time with her breathing.

The yacht sailed relentlessly on, increasing the distance across the dark water, but she was unaware of it. Her world had ceased to exist and she was just a shell of pain. How long she stood there she never knew, but suddenly she was aware of a tugging at her skirt and looked down to see Alex's anxious upturned face.

‘Mummy, don't! Don't cry!'

‘Oh, Alex!' She choked on her tears suddenly and his vulnerability pierced her grief.

He was small, he was frightened, he depended on her. Somehow she had to find the strength to support him – and the baby too. It was what Brit had wanted, and he had believed that she could do it.

But Brit – when you were there, it was different! There was a purpose – a reason to be brave.

The emptiness was unbelievable. The sea. The sky. Her heart. Barren and empty: a. void, a vacuum, a nothing. Not only never to see him again, but not even to have the smallest hope to ding to.

There was nothing left … nothing. Only a dark cloud thinning and dispersing over the mass of land called Hong Kong.

Sun, breaking through the threatening storm clouds, threw shadows from the beech trees on to the golden gravel drive and warmed the cream stone wall of the square Georgian house that was Durscombe Park. It lit the two shallow steps that ran the breadth of the centre section of frontage and the Ionic columns, squat yet elegant, that supported the curved balcony above, but it did not quite reach the white-painted front door – open now to give a glimpse of a large, light hall and a graciously curving staircase.

A woman stood in the doorway, a slender woman with softly curling silver hair, wearing a dress of flowered silk in palest pinks and mauves. Though she was clearly of something more than middle years, she had retained something of the outstanding good looks of her youth – her delicate bone structure was perfect, her skin still good and her amber eyes sparkled behind a fringe of thick lashes. Those eyes were wide now and one slim hand clutched at the doorpost as if for support.

The air was heavy with the scent of roses. Stuart Brittain breathed it in and it seemed to heighten the aura of dreamlike unreality that surrounded him. All day he had been looking forward to this moment, when he would at last come face to face with Elise Sanderson. All day, when he should have been concentrating on ironing out the details of the proposed deal between Cormorant and Roydell, he had found his mind wandering as he wondered what she would be like and what kind of reception she would give him when he called at Durscombe Park.